


looking for a breath of life

by stellahibernis



Series: say my name [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, F/M, M/M, steve is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He loves New York, but this city with its strange cars and video billboards and coffee shop chains and aliens from the sky is not his New York. It's strange, trying to find familiarity in the places he knew from before the war, where buildings he recognizes are flanked by new ones, all glass and steel. He can't settle into his new life when images from the past, just like the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, are right there at the edges of his vision.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>So he leaves.</i>
</p>
<p>Steve after New York, trying to move on but keeps getting tangled in his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking for a breath of life

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same verse as [you can't choose what stays and what fades away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2225037), but can be read stand-alone.
> 
> Steve/Bucky is the THING in this series, Steve/Peggy here is as presented in the MCU-canon.

He loves New York, but this city with its strange cars and video billboards and coffee shop chains and aliens from the sky is not his New York. It's strange, trying to find familiarity in the places he knew from before the war, where buildings he recognizes are flanked by new ones, all glass and steel. He can't settle into his new life when images from the past, just like the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, are right there at the edges of his vision.

So he leaves.

He takes up a job with SHIELD and gets his own apartment that Natasha and Clint help him furnish. He settles into a routine of training, missions, getting his coffee from the cornershop and popping into a bookstore almost every day. He helps his new neighbor carry some of her things upstairs. She introduces herself as Kate and treats him like she would any other person.

***

They say he needs to try and move on even if it's difficult. They say he mustn't dwell in the past.

In some ways it's easy. SHIELD helps him at the beginning, getting him up and running, even if they don't seem to be able to predict the things he'll find strangest. He's taken to the technology relatively fast, and it's amazing how everyday things have gotten easier.

It's the changes in the society that he finds even more amazing; how things that used to be taboo are now normal, sometimes even celebrated. It's not perfect, though. He finds out the ugly side of things very soon, both on the street and the internet. On some days he feels like the changes are immense, and on others it feels like everything is still too much the same, that they haven't advanced that far at all.

***

He gets recognized on the street all the time, and in the first few months he doesn't always know how to react. It's fine when people come and talk to him, when they seem to truly care about his experiences. They often want to share their lives as well, and he likes hearing their stories. Then there are those who just care about him because he's famous, they want pictures with him to prove they met him, and after long days these encounters are exhausting. Meeting children is the best. That's when it really hits him how much bigger than himself Captain America is. He takes pictures with everyone, signs things for them and it's a lot like the USO tour.

Except it's like that all the time. Back then if he wore civilian clothes or a regular uniform nobody would look at him more than once, but now it seems everyone knows his face. He feels the most uncomfortable when the people who recognize him but don't approach him at all, instead they just take pictures, supposedly covertly. He sees those photos on the internet sometimes, or on the magazines at the store, usually accompanied by the most outrageous speculations about his life or his mental state.

For a time he holes himself into his apartment, only goes to SHIELD and out at times when there's minimal amount of people around. He goes running at the Mall so early in the morning  that it's still dark. It goes like that for a few months, and then he decides this is not how he wants to live, hiding away from the world. He starts going out more during the daytime, gets used to getting recognized, finds out that a simple baseball cap goes a long way in hiding his identity. As does a new, shorter haircut.

He still goes running in the early morning.

***

He's got seventy years of history to catch up. He reads all kinds of books, watches documentaries, clicks through link after link late at night. Sometimes he feels amazed and happy, sometimes confused, sometimes so angry he could scream at what had happened while he was frozen.

He starts reading a book about the Howling Commandos that he was given, but stops after only a couple of dozen pages. It feels too strange reading of events he lived through himself, and it's the small mistakes that irritate him the most. He's often asked to comment or consult on documentaries, films or tv-shows in the making. He always declines, even if he doesn't really mind that they're being made. He just wants to keep his life a bit separate from all of that. He doesn't watch any of the films made of his life.

Soon after he woke up, SHIELD compiled for him all the information on the Howling Commandos and other people he knew. There are copies of their official files, accounts of their lives after the war, video footage of them taken during the war and after. He watches those videos over and over during the first few weeks, until he can’t anymore. He's not sure what he expected to find in them, but feels like he didn't.

It's not surprising that nearly all of them are dead; they would all be past ninety by now. He's happy to see that most of them had long lives and families. Howard Stark is an exception in that he didn't get to live his years out but died in a car accident with his wife.

Of course, part of Howard lives on in Tony, who occasionally calls and talks mile a minute about whatever he's making at the moment. Most of the time he's not quite sure what to make of Tony, so like and yet unlike Howard. They're not quite friends, not yet anyway, even if they got over the initial friction that was between them. They can probably work together well enough if need be, and it will have to do for now. The last time Tony called he had mentioned something about completely rebuilding the Stark Tower, naming it the Avengers Tower and making space for all the team members. Tony had sounded somewhat maniacal, more so than usual. He'd asked if the other man slept at all, but didn't get any kind of proper answer. He worries a bit, but knows that Tony has Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes, and thinks he should be fine with them.

***

It's hard enough that most of the people he knew are dead. It's harder to see Peggy still alive. A month after the battle in New York, when he had settled in his new place he goes to see her. In his memories that are only a few months old for him but from seventy years ago she's still in her twenties, beautiful and full of life. And she's still beautiful, but slipping away. The hands that used to be so strong now have trouble holding a glass of water to her lips and her eyes aren't so bright anymore.

Harder still is seeing how feeble her memory is. Sometimes it's almost like before, she talks to him just as they used to and for a moment he almost forgets how long it has been for everyone else. And then, suddenly, like water slipping through a sieve, she forgets he ever came back, and there is once more the shock, the disbelief, the joy mingled with sadness, just as there was that first time. The first time it wasn't so hard to bear, he had just been happy to see her. Every time after that it pierces his heart.

Given a proper chance, he could have loved her, perhaps he even did love her back then. No other woman had been able to catch his attention quite like she did, and what was even more incredible, she had cared for him, not for what he had become due to the serum. There had been so few people like that. Had he made it through, perhaps it would be his family now in the photographs by her bed. Or perhaps not, he has no way of seeing what would have happened. Because fate had intervened, in so many ways, and their chance had been lost in the stream of time.

He visits her every week, usually the same day and time if he's not on mission with SHIELD. Sometimes he meets her family members but mostly it's just the two of them. He doesn't stay long, both because she gets tired and because of how difficult it is for him. He feels somewhat guilty about that, after all he's young and healthy and should be able to handle this better. Afterwards he always ends up riding aimlessly on his bike around the city.

***

One Friday Clint walks in (he is sure he locked the door after himself) with a pile of blu rays and announces they are going to get him up to speed with Breaking Bad. He knows it would be no use to argue, and besides, what else does he have to do anyway? They order pizzas and he's hooked straight away.

Natasha joins them occasionally, and the three of them watch all kinds of things he has missed, from Disney to Star Trek. One night in the middle of The Lord of the Rings marathon he realizes that almost without noticing he's started to think of these two as his friends. He wonders if they feel the same, or if it's just another mission; Rehabilitate Captain America to the World.

Clint doesn't usually talk to his neighbors, but one night coming home from seeing Peggy he finds Natasha conversing with Kate in the hallway. They seem to be getting along fine, even if he doesn't get to hear what they were talking about. It makes him uncomfortable in a way he cannot define. For the first time he notices there's something familiar about Kate, but he can't quite place it.

Natasha comes in, apparently just visiting, and he puts coffee on. By now he's used to how she and Clint just invite themselves in. It's an uncomplicated way that they have dealing with each other, although he suspect that someday all the complications they have between the three of them will surface in some explosive way. She picks up his notepad on which he had doodled the scene through the kitchen window in the morning in pen, but doesn't comment on it.

The next day he finds a proper sketchbook and a pencil set on his kitchen table. All the doors and windows are locked as usual.

***

It's a Saturday afternoon in the middle of the winter, and he settles into his armchair by the window. The pages of the sketchbook are of thick and smooth paper and for a moment he just enjoys how it feels under his fingers. He selects one of the pencils and starts doodling, trying to get the feel of the pencil on paper. At first the lines are shaky and unsure, but he settles in, and just lets the images come.

He stops when his stomach growls, reminding him it's about dinnertime, and he blinks at the shadowed room. It's too dark already to be drawing, he hadnt noticed the dusk settling in. He makes a few sandwiches, but hasn't even begun eating them when it registers what he’s drawn on the open page. It's a sketch of scenery, not yet properly shaded but easily recognizable. A mountain covered with snow and train tracks running below, between the cliff face and steep drop. A cold dread settles into his stomach.

He flips back the filled pages. There are images of people he's met at SHIELD and his neighbors. Clint deep in concentration, aiming his bow. Natasha poised like coiled spring ready for action. Tony Stark in his armor, Thor raising his hammer, and the tired face of Bruce Banner overlayed with that of the Hulk. Peggy as she is now, and another of her from his memories, in the red dress she wore that one time. And among these, there are images that aren't quite as finished, that look like random practice studies, but aren't.

There's the familiar profile, all in shadow, back-lighted by the window. The strong hands that were lethal especially when holding a rifle, but impossibly gentle on the nights when he suffered from fever. The eyes that couldn't hide any emotion when young but got better as time passed. Bucky. Every last bit of him is on these pages, but not one picture is complete. He isn't sure if there is a proper picture of Bucky as he was, whole and healthy, in him anymore, and it feels like he can't breath, as if the asthma that the serum banished had returned all of the sudden.

He sits there, head leaning into his hands until it's completely dark.

***

They get a call to disband a terrorist cell in the outskirts of Detroit. They go in at night; him, Natasha and Clint, and take everyone out. The STRIKE team arrive just in time for clean up. The three of them work well together; it had worked already in New York and now they've got most of the wrinkles smoothed out. It's starting to feel like he has a team again and yet it's not the same.

Back in the war, even in the middle of the enemy ranks he'd felt safe when he had Bucky somewhere at the distance, covering his back or when they entered Hydra bases side by side, working in tandem. It hadn't taken them any time at all to learn to work perfectly in sync on the battlefield, because that was really what they had been doing half their lives, watching out for each other. The two of them had been the solid center around which the rest of Howling Commandos gathered, and they had been easily the most efficient team in the whole army.

He knows he got lucky that one time, and doesn't quite believe he can be as lucky twice. He'll have to make do with what he has now, to try and be the best he can, and trust in the abilities of his allies. He gets to know all of their strengths and weaknesses, their limits. He also throws himself into training, there is a lot to learn about how combat has evolved since the war.

Sometimes he curses his enhanced physique, because it's difficult to find limits, to run out of energy. He spars with other SHIELD agents, goes through all kinds of obstacle courses (and sets records in all of them by quite a margin) and spends countless hours at the gym late at night with specially enhanced punching bags. He runs and runs, mile after mile early in the mornings.

He thinks if he could just exhaust himself physically it would be easier not to think, not to remember. It doesn't really work.

***

Sometimes when he can't sleep (and it’s often) he finds himself in the depths of the internet. It fascinates him what he can find, from useful to silly. It seems the number of cat videos is endless. He doesn't go looking for things about himself, but occasionally he ends up on pages that have something to do with him, and he ends up reading them. He's already noticed it's easy to just get lost in all the information. Often he happens upon things that are factually wrong, or contain speculation that is extremely far away from truth. Sometimes he happens upon something that's just weird or uncomfortable (why would anyone feel the need to add his face onto other people's naked bodies anyway?). Then he usually just stops and goes for his morning run.

He goes about his life until the next time he can't sleep and finds himself in front of the screen again. It's even weirder when the speculation hits close to truth, especially when the truth is something only a few people knew. He’d like to say only two people knew, but he knows his friends were not idiots.

One night he happens upon a page that has a lot of photos of him and Bucky, some of which he had no idea were even taken. He remembers every moment though. The pictures are accompanied by speculation about the nature of their relationship, and there is a discussion on whether the original poster is right or not. There seem to be both intense support and scorn, but he stops reading the comments after a page or so. Before he leaves, he saves the photos he doesn't yet have. He wonders what the reaction would be if people ever got to know the truth, if he ever were to tell. Because the original poster is right, at least in a general way.

That morning he doesn't go running. Instead he lays flat on the floor and finally lets himself remember. He remembers Bucky's solid warmth next to him, in a bar or at the campfire. He remembers laying side by side under the stars, just listening to each other breathing. He remembers Bucky's hands, always so gentle when he'd been hurt, being far less gentle and more urgent, pressing against him. On his uniform, on the bare skin.

He remembers the rush of the first kiss, how it was everything he had imagined and yet nothing like it at all. He remembers the press of a tongue on his sleep warm skin and the cold trail it left behind. The tickle of teeth at his collarbone. He remembers how comfortable it was, Bucky's weight on top of him, cradled in his now strong arms. Their breaths mingled, hearts beating next to each other. He remembers how surprisingly soft Bucky's hair was when he ran his fingers through it.

Most of all he remembers how it sounded when Bucky said his name. Steve, Steve, Steve, in a million different ways. And that he'll never hear his voice again.

***

It's been a little more than a year since he woke up to see the world had moved on without him, and they've put together an exhibition about him at the Smithsonian. It's set to open on July 4th (when else) and he gets a private tour the day before. He's politely declined taking part in the opening ceremony, and while there he comes to the conclusion it was definitely the right decision.

It's strange; there are all these facts about his life, and then there are all the things about Captain America, all brought together to form a seamless narrative. It's a fable, though. The image of Captain America stayed while he himself was gone, and it grew into directions he never would have expected. There are things that seem to be rooted so deep that they won't disappear, at least not easily. There are some truths in the exhibition, but the picture that they paint of a man and a legend is not quite accurate, there's more of the legend than the man. And he can't be, doesn't want to be, that legend.

He thinks the curators probably wouldn't understand, so he doesn't even try to explain it. He's not sure whether he would want to delve into it even if he thought they would understand. Instead he focuses on details; asks about the sources of the photos, notes some mistakes in the descriptions and leafs through some of his old sketchbooks they take from the cases for him to see. The last one, the one he'd only half filled isn't there. He wonders what happened to it.

He's seen the footage they have of Peggy talking about him, but suddenly it feels stranger than it did before. He hasn't watched any of the old videos for months, and he's gotten somewhat used to seeing her as she is now. On the screen she's both older and younger than he remembers, and somehow it’s easier looking at her like this.

There is a stand dedicated to Bucky, and there are all these facts of his life laid out neatly, but a little skewed. It says the prison camp Bucky was at was liberated by him, but it doesn't mention why he was there in the first place. He wonders if anyone knows anymore. And there is a bit of video footage of them, just a few seconds in a loop, and this now is difficult to see. There they are; laughing, happy for a moment in the middle of all the horror they saw. He watches those seconds over and over, and doesn't even notice how the curators have moved away a bit.

It's hard to breathe again, but he can't look away. It hits him again how it's all gone wrong. Bucky never got to come back like he should have, never got to laugh freely like that without danger right around the corner. And for the first time he thinks that maybe he himself never came back either, because it sure feels like there's nothing like that laughter in him anymore. They were both lost in the war.

He finally manages to tear himself away, and he thanks for the opportunity to see the exhibition without crowds. They give him a free pass, which he also thanks them for, and privately resolves to not come back. For a few months he doesn't; it's November when he finds himself walking in the halls again. After that, he comes back every few weeks, but it takes him a while to figure out why. Outside, he's quite comfortably settled into his life in the future that is now, and there it is difficult to find place for his old comrades. At the Smithsonian they feel real, they feel close to him, and he clings to the feeling. Everywhere else it feels like they're fading away from him, and it scares him. He shouldn't be forgetting; it's been less than two years since he was with them. And it's also been nearly 70 years. Whatever people tell him about letting go, he finds out he can't.

***

He's stopped drawing altogether.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I keep telling myself I like happy things but clearly I'm deluding myself...
> 
> Title from Florence + the Machine song Breath of Life (this is definitely a thing with this series).
> 
> And it keeps on growing, there'll be two other stories set in this verse, one in the wartime and one after everything.


End file.
